


A light grilling over Roast Beef

by aljohnson



Series: "We're all alone" [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Comedy, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Elizabeth "Lizzie" Evans. She ships it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A light grilling over Roast Beef

**Author's Note:**

> LIV = Law Institute of Victoria - the representative body for solicitors in Victoria.

Jack stood on the porch of the neat house, rocking back and forwards from his heels to his toes. It was late morning, and the sun was shining, taking the edge off the cold winter chill. A light frost was still slowly lifting, the flowers in the tidy garden dappled with droplets of water. 

From inside the house he heard the muffled laughter of a young girl, and the uncertain thumping of piano keys as an approximation of a jazz tune played. Jack smiled to himself, and adjusted his tie as he waited for his knock on the door to be answered.

The door opened, and Jack smiled broadly, “Lizzie” he exclaimed, stepping forward to greet the woman. 

“Jack!” Lizzie stepped forward and embraced Jack, leaving a light dusting of flour on the shoulders of his overcoat. She sheepishly wiped her hands on her apron, taking a step backwards and beckoning Jack in as she did. Jack stepped over the door-step and shut the door behind him. 

“You’re on Gravy” she said, as Jack removed his hat and overcoat, hanging them on one of the spare pegs on the rack in the hallway. He took his jacket off and hung that up too, removed his cufflinks carefully, tucking them in his waistcoat pocket. He rolled his sleeves up as he followed Lizzie to the back of the house.

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch is there?” he said cheerfully, “no Robbie?” 

“No, he’s had to work. Big trial next week, lots of papers to prepare for Counsel” replied Lizzie, handing Jack a tea towel and a spiral whisk. 

Jack slung the tea towel over his shoulder and moved over to the kitchen table. A joint of beef was resting on a rack, the empty roasting tin lying under it, catching the juices of the meat. The joint had just about finished dripping. Jack moved the roasting tin, using the tea towel to guard against the risk of burning his fingers. He added some corn flour from its tin on the table and began whisking the sauce within the roasting tin. Over at the small range, Lizzie was attending to the vegetables and the Yorkshire Puddings. 

“Uncle Jack!” the bundle of energy which was Amanda Evans rolled through the door and barrelled into Jack’s legs, hugging them tight. She had brown hair with a hint of a curl in it. She took after her mother to a remarkable extent.

“Careful Mandy, the tins are hot” warned Lizzie lightly. 

“Hello Mandy” said Jack, running a hand casualty through the girl’s hair, “How are you?”

“I am very well, Uncle Jack, thank you” said Mandy, in what sounded very like a practised response. Jack raised an eyebrow towards Lizzie, who mouthed ‘etiquette lessons at school’ and gave a knowing tilt of the head. 

“Well that’s lovely. Now, do you want to go and see if the table is laid, these pots and pans are very hot, and we wouldn’t want you to get hurt, would we?” replied Jack, focusing his attention on his niece. 

Mandy barrelled back out of the kitchen, shouting for her brother. The thumping of the piano stopped and Jack heard the scrapping of the piano stool and shutting of the lid. The sound of cutlery being inexpertly arranged travelled back to the kitchen. Lizzie winced. 

“They’ll take the shine off that cutlery” said Lizzie, resigning herself to spending much of the following day with the silver polish. 

“Sorry” said Jack, testing the thickness of the gravy. Finding he was happy with the result he poured the sauce into the gravy boat. “Have you a plate for the Beef?” he asked.

“In the warming oven” replied Lizzie. Jack retrieved the plate, carefully moving the joint of beef onto it, as Lizzie came over to place the Yorkshires around it. “Right, take that through. And after we’ve eaten, you can tell me all about your week” said Lizzie, in a tone that Jack knew meant that Lizzie already knew exactly how his week had been and intended to interrogate him about it. Jack smiled to himself that there were some things at least that no journalist was going to have reported on. 

“And here was I thinking the gravy was price enough to pay” retorted Jack.

“Now, now, you don’t get off that lightly Jack dear” teased Lizzie, gathering up the plates of vegetables. Jack sighed, but dutifully followed his sister down the hallway to the dining room, carefully carrying the prepared food.

****************************************************************************

 

Sunday lunch was over. The excellent beef, prepared to just the right degree of cooked for Jack’s preference, had been accompanied by some exceptionally fluffy Yorkshire Puddings. It occurred to Jack that this had been an excellent week for food, and he smiled slightly at the reminiscence of Supper with Phryne just three nights earlier. 

Conversation had flowed freely during lunch as Amanda and John had eaten as fast as a bid to avoid indigestion but permit second helpings would allow. Jack learnt that John was developing an interest in Jazz Music, and it occurred to him that Phryne would probably be able to introduce his nephew to every important Jazz artist in Melbourne. Maybe he could ask her about it sometime? Maybe, Jack had reflected, that was actually a terrible idea.

Mandy had enthusiastically discussed the latest playground games, and the fact that her class was learning polite and respectable answers to questions in advance of an important visit to her school. Mandy wasn’t sure who, but Lizzie leaned close to Jack to whisper that the important visitor was to be the School Inspector, and that Mandy’s somewhat young and newly qualified class teacher was keen to impress.

Lizzie’s week had included the usual rota of piano students, housework and some ambitious knitting, as well as a rousing afternoon at the Mother’s Union. She had also accompanied Robbie to the LIV Winter Ball, and had enjoyed a fabulous time. 

As Lizzie stacked the empty plates she considered Jack. She’d noticed him, during lunch, seeming to drift off. Where to, she was not quite sure, but Jack was smiling, as if he was harbouring a secret known only to him. She poured Jack a cup of tea from the pot. Jack took it from her, smiling.

Lizzie rose to her feet and retrieved a large, loosely bound, over-stuffed album from the top of the piano. Amanda’s eyes lit up, “ooohhh, are we going to look at some pictures of The Pretty Lady?” she asked, suddenly interested in the grown up conversation. 

“The Pretty Lady? Which pretty lady” asked Jack, somewhat confused, “and, are you keeping a scrapbook Lizzie?”

“Your pretty lady, Uncle Jack, the one who helps you and goes to all the parties in the newspapers” said Mandy, looking at Jack with huge eyes and ignoring the glare he was directing at her mother. 

Jack was speechless, and looked to Lizzie for guidance. Lizzie just smiled, in the infuriating way which Jack knew meant he was about to be stitched up. Lizzie opened the top of a small stack of newspapers to a photo feature page, and tapped lightly. 

“Here you are Mandy, read what it says underneath the picture to Uncle Jack” Lizzie was trying to encourage Mandy’s reading, and knew that Mandy loved the pictures of Melbourne’s glitzy society events. The accompanying text seemed like an acceptable gateway to education. Mandy leaned up onto the table and began to read out loud carefully.

“At, last, night’s Melbourne, Hos-pi-tal fund raising, ga-la” Mandy fumbled over some of the words and Jack helped her with the corrections before falling silent again, “the leading ladies and glam-oro-us gen-tle-men of Melbourne high society were radi-ant and spar-kling. Amongst the guests was The Hon-or-able Miss P, Miss Pyh, Miss Pry,” the girl let out an exasperated sigh, “Uncle Jack, how do I say it? I can’t work it out.”

Jack smiled, “It’s a difficult one Mandy; the sound is not quite how it looks. I’ll sound it out for you, it has two parts. First ‘Fry’”

“Like with eggs?” asked Mandy.

“Yes, like with eggs. So first ‘Fry’, and then ‘Knee’”

“Like on your leg?” 

“Yes” said Jack, more amused than he should have been.

“Fry Knee, Fry-knee, Fryknee. Is that right Uncle Jack?”

“Yes, now soften out the bit where the parts meet and make the end feel a bit shorter” replied Jack, “Phryne. Can you hear the difference?”

“Phry-ne” repeated Mandy, slowly. 

“That’s very good Mandy. Well done”. Jack smiled as Phryne’s name ran through his mind. He missed most of the rest of Mandy’s stumbled reading of the gushing descriptions of the attendees, their outfits and the hints of whether anything scandalous may have occurred between any of the guests. Jack was looking at the pictures; casually casting his eyes over the one’s featuring Phryne. Mandy reached the end of the descriptions and turned the page.

“There’s not more is there?” asked John, “please, please, there is only so much of women’s dresses I can take”.

“John, Mandy, washing up” ordered Lizzie. Obediently, the children left the room. They knew that tone from their mother. John was relieved to not have to listen to the frivolous conversation any further. The sound of water running echoed down the hallway to where Jack and Lizzie sat across from each other at the dining table. Lizzie flipped open the scrapbook and placed a number of loose cuttings in front of Jack. “So, I gather you’ve had a busy week then?”

Jack looked at the headlines. ‘Commissioner Sanderson arrested. Charged with bribery, collusion and accessory to murder. Other charges may follow’ read one. Jack winced, “I’ve been avoiding reading the papers”

“I’m not surprised. I think this is my particular favourite” Lizzie picked out the clipping. The still attached masthead revealed the article to be from The Argus. Jack groaned quietly – the paper was known for its fondness to over-exaggerate any scandalous occurrence. Lizzie cleared her throat and began to read:

_“VICTORIA POLICE IN FRESH SCANDAL_

_TURMOIL AT RUSSELL STREET_

_GOVERNOR SOMERS EXPRESSES CONCERN, REQUESTS MEETING WITH MAYOR LUXTON - POLITICIANS INVOLVED IN SEARCH FOR ANOTHER NEW CHIEF COMMISSIONER_

_The Victoria Police was thrown into fresh chaos today after the arrest of Chief Commissioner George Sanderson. It is understood that Detective Inspector John Robinson of City South Police Station is leading the investigation into Sanderson’s activities._

_Details are emerging only slowly of this latest scandal to rock the public’s confidence in the Constabulary. Our reporter has learnt that charges relating to the kidnapping of some of the Fallen and Friendless Girls of The Convent of The Sisters of The Holy Miracle are to be levied at Chief Commissioner Sanderson, and that he may be charged as an accessory to the murder of one of those unfortunates._

_Also arrested is Sidney Fletcher, Director of SWF Export, who has been labelled by some as the ring leader of the criminal operation, designed to sell girls to overseas buyers. Their eventual fates cannot in all good conscience be discussed in a family publication such as this. A worker at the Magdalen Laundry, based at the Convent of the Sisters of The Holy Miracle has also been arrested as an accomplice in relation to the kidnapping charges”_

Lizzie paused, looking at Jack.

“Well, that seems fairly accurate” said Jack, with a sense of relief.

“Oh, it gets more lurid from there” said Lizzie, with a flourish, returning to the copy.

_“It is believed that the well-known socialite, The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, has an involvement in the investigation, and may even be a material witness in a future court case. We look forward to seeing Miss Fisher’s court attire, should that eventuality arise._

_Witnesses at the scene of the crime stated that they saw Detective Inspector Robinson escorting Miss Fisher from the Merchant Ship ‘Pandarus’ late on Wednesday evening. Our eye-witness told us that Miss Fisher and Robinson appeared to be deep in close conversation as they supervised the release of a number of kidnapped girls from the bowels of the vessel._

_Miss Fisher has featured in a number of our special photographic feature articles since her arrival in Melbourne a little over a year ago._

_Regular readers of our Court Reporting column may recall that DI Robinson was previously married to the now former Chief Commissioner Sanderson’s daughter; before the somewhat acrimonious dissolution of their marriage late last year._

_Those of our readers who prefer the happier reporting of our Announcements column may recall that Rosemary Sanderson and Sidney Fletcher announced their engagement earlier this year, shortly before DI Robinson had occasion to arrest the then Deputy Commissioner Sanderson on suspicion of murder; an investigation whose resolution The Hon. Miss Fisher was also linked to._

_Further reporting will continue as the case develops”_

Lizzie placed the paper back on the table.

“Oh god” groaned Jack, burying his head in his hands. 

“And just in case anyone had forgotten, the editor chose to helpfully print a teaser photograph from their feature on that hospital fundraiser, featuring your Miss Fisher, in the very next column. Mandy’s asked if we can keep that one. It is quite a good picture” Lizzie was practically gleeful.

Jack groaned again. Lizzie continued. “So, you’ve arrested Rosie’s father. And her fiancé. Anything you’d like to tell me? Any issues you would like to discuss?”

“Rosie wasn’t happy” said Jack, head still buried in his hands.

“She was there?” Lizzie’s voice sounded shocked, “Is she involved?”

“I don’t believe so. She was too upset to have known anything. But she was at the station when I’d finished questioning George”

“And?” Lizzie could see there was more.

“And I, instinctively almost, comforted her. And Phryne was there. And then she wasn’t.”

“Phryne?” asked Lizzie.

“Phryne” confirmed Jack softly, and a smile travelled across his face, reaching deep into the corners of his eyes. 

Lizzie sat back in her chair, crossed her arms, tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Three years, Jack, three years, you have been coming here for Sunday Lunch: for the first two years you barely said a word, it was like trying to pull hen’s teeth; twelve months ago you started talking about ‘that infuriating woman’; nine months ago she became ‘Miss Fisher’; and now it’s ‘Phryne’. And with a little smile. You have never referred to her by her first name before,” Lizzie paused, considering her brother, “and you are lighter of spirit than I have seen you in years. So tell me Jack, what has happened?”

Jack went silent, and idly played with an unused spoon.

“Come on, Jackie, oh little brother of mine. What is going on with you and ‘Phryne’?”

Jack was aware that Lizzie could have been a very good police officer. He wondered whether his admitted skill in the interrogation room perhaps came from their mother, and whether the skill had been handed down to both of them. He wondered whether Robbie received tips from his wife to assist him in the Court Room. It occurred to Jack, not for the first time, that if the world had been slightly different, it would be Lizzie who was at the office today, putting together winning arguments and casting a careful eye over evidence which could condemn or acquit. She had gone silent now, but was looking at him with an inquisition that made him squirm. 

“Fine. Right. You’re right,” babbled Jack, in a fluster. Lizzie remained silent. “I went for Supper on Thursday” he blurted. He hadn’t really meant to reveal that.

“With Rosie?” Lizzie was becoming confused.

“No! With Phryne. At her house.” Jack clarified. He was fairly sure he didn’t have to; fairly sure Lizzie was just determined to torture him.

“You’ve been for supper at her house before. Lots of times” 

“Yes” Jack was torn between propriety and a desire to tell everyone he knew that the situation with Phryne had changed.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Lizzie could tell there was more to it than Jack was letting on. Lizzie had become skilled over the years at getting information out of Jack; it was a trick she had learnt by observing their mother do the same when they were younger.

“I went for Supper. On Thursday evening” Jack swallowed hard as he squirmed in his chair, but he knew Lizzie and could see she was waiting for the whole story. She would not let him leave until she knew everything. “I left on Friday morning”. Jack looked over at Lizzie, wondering what her reaction would be.

Lizzie’s jaw dropped open. Jack had stunned her into silence. Behind a fog of embarrassment Jack filed away the look of shock on his sister’s face. He felt slightly triumphant. 

A long, slow smirk spread over Lizzie’s face, and Jack knew that he had gloated too soon. “Jack dear, are we straying into territory that no big sister should ever know about her little brother’s ‘personal life’?”

“No, no! Nothing happened” said Jack, significantly understating the truth of the matter and hoping that Lizzie wouldn’t press him any further. 

Lizzie raised an eyebrow to indicate that she believed her brother was talking nonsense, but remained quiet, knowing Jack would feel forced to break the silence. He did.

“We talked. Mainly. It was very, honest. And, well, I like her Lizzie, I care for her, a lot,” he paused, still trying to grapple with the truth of what he wished to say next. Lizzie cut across his thoughts.

“Well I could have told you that six months ago. Don’t tell me you only just realised?” Lizzie could not believe how unaware Jack could have been about his own feelings – they had been obvious to her all year. 

“I think it’s taken me a while to sort it all out in my own head. But, it turns out, she cares for me too” Jack smiled.

“So, you’re together now?” asked Lizzie, cautiously, tamping down the urge to squeal in a most undignified manner. 

“Erm, well, sort of? We’re taking things slowly” replied Jack.

“But she’s your girlfriend?” Lizzie countered, keenly.

“Oh. Erm, we haven’t really defined what we are. I’m not sure that either of us would really want to, at this point. And, we’re sort of keeping it quiet” Jack concluded. It was suddenly obvious to him that explaining himself and Phryne to other people was going to be tricky. Other people had an accepted language for relationships; and their development, but Phryne and he didn’t. Jack quite liked the sense of freedom that came with that. 

“You’re keeping it quiet? Is that at her request?” asked Lizzie, her attitude hardening.

“At mine, actually. I don’t think our, relationship,” Jack rolled the word around his mouth, slowly, “I don’t believe it’s any of anyone’s business.”

“Well excuse me!” blasted Lizzie, angrily.

“No, no! Not you!” replied Jack, realising he had angered and possibly hurt his sister, “just, people; the world; The bloody Argus!” Jack gestured at the newspaper, “we don’t know what we are yet. We both, generally, want the same thing, but we’re still working it all out.” 

Jack calmed down, paused, and took a sip from his cup of tea, “do you remember a bit ago, I had that case down at The Oval, and Rosie was looking after The Hangman’s wife?” Lizzie nodded. She recalled Jack being quieter than usual at Sunday lunch that week. 

“She said, ‘it’s very different, second time around’. I think she had a point, actually” Jack swirled the remnant of his tea in the bottom of the cup. 

“Well, I’ll bow to her wisdom there. I think you’ve got the better end of that stick though. At least your Miss Fisher isn’t a criminal!” Lizzie laughed lightly.

Jack chuckled, “if you ignore the breaking and entering!”

“Well yes” conceded Lizzie, smiling.

Jack continued, “The trespassing. Criminal Damage. Assault. And a truly terrifying array of driving offences” 

Lizzie guffawed, “oh Jack, what happened to your quiet little life of being solitary and miserable?”

“Phryne. Phryne Fisher happened” said Jack, with a grin. “Now, did that article mention something about photographic features? What has Mandy had you keep?”

Lizzie giggled and opened the scrap book, flicking through the pages. Earlier pages contained snippets of Robbie’s case victories. Newer pages had pictures of Phryne interspersed between reports of Jack’s arrests and investigations. There was the occasional picture of Jack too, snapped by a newspaper photographer, mostly of Jack putting his hand up to obscure the shot. Jack scanned through the most recent reports. 

“How much have you told John and Mandy about, well, all of this?” Jack motioned towards the reports of George’s arrest. 

“Well, Mandy’s too young to really remember ‘Auntie Rosie’, and John hasn’t really said much at all, other than to ask whether you were in any trouble. You aren’t, are you Jack?” underneath the teasing, Lizzie’s concern for her brother was heartfelt. 

Jack sighed, “I hope not. I did disobey George’s orders, but I rather think that might get overlooked now.”

Seemingly satisfied, Lizzie topped up Jack’s cup of tea. “So tell me Jack, are you taking your Phryne out on a date anytime soon?”

At the suggestion, Jack’s mind started to work through the options. He suddenly had a rather intriguing idea….


End file.
